


The Awkward Intersection of Love and Estrangement

by vega_voices



Series: Sleeps with Butterflies [44]
Category: CSI, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-06 01:02:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vega_voices/pseuds/vega_voices
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Yes, this trip was important. She wasn’t wearing her ring although it was never far from her finger. He didn’t comment. He still wore his. She didn’t comment. In fact, they didn’t say a word about the relationship. The baggage sat between them, but somehow they didn’t trip over it. They just let it sit. It wasn’t going anywhere. </i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Awkward Intersection of Love and Estrangement

**Title:** The Awkward Intersection of Love and Estrangement  
 **Series:** [Sleeps with Butterflies](http://vega-voices.livejournal.com/79902.html)  
 **Author:** vegawriters  
 **Fandom:** CSI  
 **Pairing:** Grissom/Sara  
 **Rating:** Teen  
 **Timeframe:** Takes place around _Dead of the Class_. (I would like to mention how happy I am that Jorja wasn't in the episode. It fed into my head canon perfectly.)  
 **A/N:** Consider this an interlude in this epic storyline. We don’t know where the powers that be are going to take Grissom and Sara. But we do know what they’ve repeated over and over again since the beginning of the season: _they love each other; that will never change_.  
 **Disclaimer:** Someday, I hope to be working in a field where I have to take these stories down because I’m part of the team bringing them to canon life every day. But until then, here you go. CBS and TPTB make all the money from the stories they tell. I just like to play in the shadows. This is for fun, and for heartbreak.

 **Summary:** _Yes, this trip was important. She wasn’t wearing her ring although it was never far from her finger. He didn’t comment. He still wore his. She didn’t comment. In fact, they didn’t say a word about the relationship. The baggage sat between them, but somehow they didn’t trip over it. They just let it sit. It wasn’t going anywhere._

_Hold me darling_  
Hold me please  
I am sorry  
I am weak  
~Vicci Martinez

 

They’d been sitting in a kind of awkwardly perfect silence all morning. Despite getting up, getting dressed, and even laughing about how hungry she was and it wasn’t fair she couldn’t go into the procedure with at least coffee in her system, it was clear that every breath hurt. The cysts had to come out. Today. But sitting alone together in the procedure room, waiting for the doctor to come in and talk, they slipped into silence. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t comfortable. This had been unexpected. When he’d been here last, she’d been talking with the doctors about options for her endometriosis, but nothing was dire. This situation had cropped up overnight and had been getting increasingly worse. They hadn’t expected to see each other for a while. He’d planned to go to Spring Training in Arizona alone. A part of him knew being thrown together like this was a good thing. Neither of them really wanted the marriage to end and while they both knew a break was good, they also knew that without the chance to start talking, they’d keep slipping away. Clinging to her hand, he realized he didn’t want that to happen. He wasn’t sure where he wanted the relationship to go, but he didn’t want that to happen. The way she clung to his hand told him everything he needed to know. He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them.

“You’ll be in and out in no time.”

“Yeah.” She gave a bit of a smile and closed her eyes. The doctor walked in.

“Hi, Sara.” Doc Levin gave her a smile and then looked at him. He could see the surprise on her face. “Gil, it’s good to see you.” He gave her a nod. The doctor walked around to the far side of the bed and begin a cursory examination. When Sara howled involuntarily and arched off the bed in an instinctive reaction to get away from the pain, Levin shook her head. “Yeah. It’s pretty clear we need to go in and get these out. I’m a bit worried one has burst, or is almost bursting. If that’s the case, there will be more we have to do to clean things out. You’re not allergic to any medications, right?”

“No.” Sara caught her breath.

“Good because either way, you’re going to be on some heavy-duty antibiotics when this is done.” She patted Sara’s shoulder. “You’ll be home and asleep and pain free in just a couple of hours. And if things look good in there otherwise, we’ll be able to take our time and choose the best course of action for your endo.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

Grissom didn’t miss how hard Sara suddenly squeezed his hand. He squeezed back.

“All right, Gil. Go grab a cup of coffee. I’ll come get you when this is done.” The tone in Levin’s voice told him it was not a request.

He looked down at his wife, remembering the last time he had to leave her in a hospital alone. How long had it taken for her to stabilize? “I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered. She nodded. He took her bag and his jacket and headed to the waiting room.

When she’d called to tell him about the cysts, and he’d promised to come home, she’d started to cry. She didn’t want him to feel obligated, she said, but worse, she didn’t want him to love her only when things were in crisis. She wanted him to love her because he loved her. Because he wanted to be with her. Because they made each other smile as much as they supported each other. She was right and he hated it. This moment in time wasn’t going to fix what was wrong. It wasn’t going to change that she was finally stable and happy here and he wasn’t ready to settle down. She deserved a husband who wanted to be there every night; he wanted to be with her every night, but he wasn’t ready to sit still. He’d been sitting still for too long. In theory, the idea that they could use the house in Vegas as a home base and he’d be off for a few weeks or months at a time was a good one; that had been the plan when she first moved home. It hadn’t worked out that way. Who was to say the second try would work any better? The longer he put off doing things, the longer he took to make choices, the angrier she became. And he knew she was angry. He knew she was hurting. He knew she felt like she was second in his heart. In his priorities, maybe, but never in his heart. Still, it didn’t take a genius to understand why even a kiss from another man could be liberating for her. She’d told him everything, and it hurt to hear, but in truth she was guilty of nothing save being young and beautiful and lonely. He believed her when she said that in Taylor’s room at the hotel, all they’d done was talk. Taylor had tried for another kiss, she’d confessed, but this time she hadn’t allowed it. Even then she’d been waiting, hoping, that he’d show up. She’d stumbled back to her room in the hopes that she’d open the door and her husband would be waiting. Instead she’d cradled her happy birthday text message, taken a zolpidem on top of all the wine she’d consumed, and passed out.

Phoenix would be good for them. Necessary. But it wasn’t going to solve the problems. Truth was, he had no idea how to solve them. They couldn’t afford for both of them to be out and about, researching. Not in today’s market. She was willing to leave the lab, he knew. Despite Vegas being her home, she’d sacrifice everything and put the house on the market. Why wasn’t he willing to do the same for her? Or maybe he was and he just hadn’t asked himself the right questions. Life was all about asking the right questions, right?

The moments ticked by on the clock and he waited, holding his breath. An hour tops, he knew. Time to put her under, make the incisions, cut out the cysts, stich her back together. She had to be off her feet for the rest of the day and take it easy the rest of the week. Just in case, the doctor said. Grissom was driving them to Phoenix and the time spent in the sun would be good for her. He wondered, casually, if they could have sex. Not that they needed to introduce that element back into the relationship right now. Sara was right, they’d spend each moment of the act wondering if it was the last time. But it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to touch her, to run his hands over her body and watch her awaken to him. There were few things in life he loved more than how their bodies fit together.

He sat and stared, reliving every moment of the quest for children in his mind. Sara had a point – for all the times over the years they’d been unprotected, when she hadn’t been on birth control and they’d forgotten the condoms, it would stand to reason she would have had at least one pregnancy scare. But nothing. They’d known when they started this quest it was a long shot. But it hadn’t been impossible. Not until just the past few months. And he knew she was wondering if her inability to have children was feeding into his asking for a break and all his protesting that it was an unfortunate coincidence did little to change the look in her eyes. She blamed herself, her inability. He blamed the bastard who raped her when she was only fourteen years old and the medical staff who had ignored the cries of a teen girl when she told them things hurt when they shouldn’t. He blamed what their haphazard stitching and the subsequent scarring had done to her. He blamed doctors who had told her not to worry, that her body would naturally heal, that the female body was designed to handle the kind of abuse she’d suffered. He blamed Dan and the abuse heaped upon her. He blamed Natalie and the desert and the systemic infection. He blamed himself for ever opening the door of their hopes.

She blamed herself.

At hour one he took out his phone and checked email and confirmed his appearance at a lecture the last week of March. He sent an email back regarding some bit of research that was pending. He replied to a couple of comments on a message board for forensic entomologists. Anything to keep his hands busy.

Half an hour later, Dr. Levin emerged. She’d changed her scrubs, which worried him a bit. Usually they only did that when there was a lot of blood. He stood, pocketing his phone, chewing on his lip. “Sara’s fine,” she said with a reassuring smile and then motioned to the chair. They both sat. “None of the cysts had burst, although one was infected and that is where the pain was most likely coming from. We were able to remove all three of the troubling ones and a small cluster of smaller ones that had formed. We’ve sent a sample off to the lab for testing, though.”

“You’re thinking cancer?” His heart stopped and the room started to spin.

“No. I’m thinking severe endometriosis, like the diagnosis has been. But, with the accelerated growth of the cysts, I wanted to check it out. Right now, there isn’t any reason to push the hysterectomy, although she does need to start some treatment plan for the endometriosis. It isn’t going to go away just because we’ve removed the cysts. They will come back.” Grissom nodded. “We took our time coming to get you because we wanted to make sure she came out of the anesthesia safely. She’s waking up and being moved to a private room. You can see her soon and the nurse will give you the after-care instructions. I need to see her in a week to make sure she’s healing.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“Keep her off her feet today. Light activity is okay tomorrow and through the week as she feels up to it. Clear liquids for most of the day as well, though if she gets nauseated as a result of the pain medication, she can have crackers or a little bit of soup. Tomorrow she can return to a normal diet as her appetite allows.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

She patted his arm. “Take heart. This is definitely not the worst I’ve seen. She’ll be up and taking down criminals in no time.”

He smiled a bit and watched her walk away and settled in to wait for the nurse to take him back.

Sara was okay.

Now the hard work began.

***

Stretched out on the bed in a nondescript motel room in Phoenix, Sara was glad she’d made the decision to come with him on this vacation they’d scheduled long before the phone call that had for all intents and purposes, ended their marriage. 

If only it was all that simple. The minute she’d told him about the cysts and what she needed to have done, he’d hopped on a plane. He’d been there when she woke up after the surgery, carried her into the house when she couldn’t even walk after it was all done, and sat next to the bed to make sure she didn’t need anything. He’d driven the route to Phoenix. He’d held her hand at one point when things grew painful and awkward in the car. And that smile he’d always reserved just for her had appeared on his face again. 

Yes, this trip was important. She wasn’t wearing her ring although it was never far from her finger. He didn’t comment. He still wore his. She didn’t comment. In fact, they didn’t say a word about the relationship. The baggage sat between them, but somehow they didn’t trip over it. They just let it sit. It wasn’t going anywhere. 

Instead, they talked. They talked about baseball and he extolled what it was like to be a lifelong Cubs fan and how he’d finally had to start cheering for the Dodgers so that he could love a team that knew how to win. She confessed one of the reasons she loved the Giants was because her father had been a fan and even when he was drinking, the baseball games had been one of their ways of escaping her mother. 

They sat at the tables outside the coffee shop in the same plaza as the motel and she smoked and he didn’t lecture. Instead, he told her about the bee study he was now involved in down in Africa. She contemplated the pros and cons of going back to work on her PhD. He told her stories about Peru. She bitched about the effect of forensic shows on potential jurists. 

He told her she was beautiful. She ran a finger down the top of his hand and smiled. 

After the double header on day two, when the run from the car to the motel door in the sudden downpour drenched them through to the bone, he helped her change into a warmer set of pjs and she stole one of his sweaters and they stretched out together on the bed in silence, listening to the rain crash against the windows. His hand moved gently up and down her stomach, avoiding the stiches and the pain. She let her fingers trail up and down his arm, watching his skin react to her touch. He shifted. She turned. And when their lips met there was no rush to complete the act, no push to enforce the bonding of their lives together, and Sara realized that even sex had been part of the problem. They’d stopped taking time, stopped exploring. They wanted each other so much that the idea of instant gratification was more important than the way his beard rasped against her neck or how his hand rested between her breast and hip. She settled beneath him, one leg tossed over his, he kept his weight off of her just enough so that the pressure wouldn’t hurt her. Sex was still on the list of forbidden post-op activities and so they just touched and kissed and it felt good to feel like a teenager again, necking and touching and exploring. They hadn’t explored each other in years. His hand skimmed over her breast but did not settle. Her fingers trailed down his back. There was no rush. No demand. They were just … them. And whatever happened in the morning, now they were here. On this bed. Remembering what could be if they could find the way not to fight the current of their lives, but follow it. 

They were both tired of fighting. 

She woke up not nestled in some tight cocoon of his arms but stretched out on her stomach, his arm thrown across her back. In the light that peeked in from the curtains, she watched the shadows play across his face and wondered what went through his mind right before waking. She could see him surfacing and watched the way his face shifted before he tensed and stretched and then cracked open one blue eye. How many times had they woken just like this, stretched across hotel beds or in the apartment in Paris? How often had they spent the morning in comfortable silence, not expecting anything of the other person? When had they started demanding from each other? Expecting an impossible promise to be met? The first year apart had worked so well because they respected the distance and the boundaries it created and they worked within that structure instead of trying to battle it down. He smiled. She smiled. He kissed her and rose from bed and she watched his surreptitious trip to the bathroom with a smirk on her face. 

They had two more full days in Phoenix. One game each day. Her doctor had warned her to keep the activities light, but sitting in the sun at baseball games wasn’t hard on her. Instead of climbing mountains and digging for desert bugs, they were going to go play in a favorite used book store. She wanted to find a new journal. He wanted to spend time in the museum. They didn’t talk about the end of the trip and the return to Vegas and his inevitable departure to the lives they were trying to live while the life they’d had together continued to unravel. Maybe not talking was the right thing to do. Maybe to stay together they needed to start the process over. 

Moving slowly – her body still ached from the procedure – Sara got to her feet and walked to the suitcases. On top of his was the jersey he’d worn to yesterday’s games and she pulled it to her face, inhaling his scent. Tears welled up and she pushed them away but his arms were suddenly around her and she leaned back into his bulk and all she could think was that she didn’t want this week to end. She’d been so scared that it would be awkward and terrible and that she’d regret coming. Instead, he’d been perfect. They were perfect. Logic told her that she had to just take it a moment at a time, but the idea of waking up alone in her bed again terrified her. What if he didn’t come back? 

His lips were on the crown of her head and his arms tightly around her and she pressed her face into the jersey and not a word was said until she reclaimed her breathing abilities. She didn’t apologize. She didn’t need to. He just turned her to face him and they kissed softly and when he stroked her face as they broke apart, she saw the same pain in his eyes. But they couldn’t speak about it. Not yet. They needed to keep drifting. So she shook her head but clutched the jersey to her chest and when she gathered her clothes and ducked into the bathroom to shower, she kept the shirt with her and wore it over her tank top. He couldn’t deny her that connection. And he didn’t. And when she slipped her wedding ring onto a chain to wear around her neck, he helped her fasten the clasp. 

Their eyes met in the mirror and his hands moved down her arms until she was again wrapped up in him. She stared at their reflections, wondering if anything could possibly change. But this trip was needed. No matter what happened next, this trip had been needed. He squeezed her tighter for a long moment. She gave him a smile. 

“Let’s go get some breakfast, hmm?”

“Sounds good.” 

She grabbed her bag. He collected his wallet. They stepped out into the hall and linked hands as they walked down the hall. 

“Oh,” she said as they stepped onto the elevator, “I finally picked up that old book by Mary Roach.”

“The one about corpses and death?” He chuckled. “The one that’s been on your list for years?” 

“Yes! And it’s fantastic. She’s got a great grasp of the forensics.”

He grinned and pushed the button for the lobby. The conversation wasn’t forced. No matter what happened later, they were okay. For now.


End file.
